


bedtime

by charleybradburies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Background Relationships, Family Feels, Future Fic, House Stark, Husbands, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Male Slash, Married Couple, Massage, Older Characters, POV Jon Snow, Post-Canon, Short & Sweet, Slash, Sleeping Together, Soft Tormund Giantsbane, Wildlings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: A short, sweet moment between Jon and Tormund (and Ghost).Inspired by a Jonmund Discord conversation.
Relationships: Ghost & Jon Snow, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	bedtime

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't had enough motivation to write much recently, but this hit me and I got a bit out, so here it is. Please do kudos and comment if you enjoy or have thoughts about it!

Jon drags himself into the tent, Ghost trotting lazily after him, and plops down onto the pile of furs in the corner, wincing at the ache creeping towards his shoulder blades. It had been a long day of hunting, paired with a long day of corralling Sam’s boys and his sisters’ children, the latter group being wild as their wildling cousins though they’re raised in the castles of the great houses they represent. It was a testament to the wills of his sisters, he supposes, but pride in his family and happiness at having them around for the time being didn’t make either his body any younger or the task of teaching children any easier. Little Sam, older than the other visiting children, helped with his brother and with hunting, but he was a boy still, and not ready for too much responsibility. 

With his head laid down entirely, the tiredness takes Jon’s body over, but the soreness entices him to stretch his arms forward. Ghost lunges into the space in front of Jon, greedy to be doted on. Jon obliges him with some petting, but groans at the discomfort that comes from moving his arms too much. He’d carried more weight than normal, but he’d given the children a good day of adventure and a good dinner, and getting to crawl into furs with another comforting warm body was reward enough for any day’s difficulties. 

As though summoned by Jon’s thoughts, Tormund enters but a moment later, greeted by Ghost. Jon does his best to roll over and send a romantic smile, but he winces instead, drawing concern from his husband even before a word has been said. 

“Getting old, my pretty crow?” Tormund jests, though the concern doesn’t leave his face. He starts undressing for the night, reminding Jon that he’s not yet done the same. 

“Perhaps,” Jon chuckles in response. The thought bothers him less than it did only a few years ago, and still he doesn't dwell on it. “Sore from the day. Still pretty, though.”

“Aye, always still pretty,” Tormund says fondly, lips licked in a way that’s one part a reflex and another part a point. He peels off the last of his overclothes and steps around Ghost to come to their furs, sitting down at Jon’s side. 

“Some help with that soreness?” he asks, reaching around to Jon’s front, not needing to ask before helping Jon with his clothes. Jon rolls over towards his lap, using what energy he has to curl into Tormund, with a small “please.” 

The remainder of Jon's spot on the furs is immediately grabbed by Ghost, and Jon laughs into Tormund’s leg as the shift in position helps get his cloak off. Tormund puts it off to the side and slides a hand down Jon’s back.

He strokes gently at first, and then uses more force to search for the tighter spots. At Jon's shoulders, even a bit of pressure draws moans that sound more erotic than he means them to, and pleasant grunts in response from Tormund.

“Guess that means I’m doin’ it right,” he quips, then adds his other hand and presses harder, first with the tips of his fingers and then with only his thumbs, pushing right into the soreness in Jon's body as though he could push it away. Tormund's hands are large, and tough, and familiar, and even with the pain of the particular soreness, their movements lull Jon further towards sleep, until the pressure softens and sleep draws him totally in. 

He wakes later, when there’s no illumination in the tent; he's happy and warm, with Tormund wrapped around him, arms around his chest and their legs tangled together, and Ghost curled up at his other side.


End file.
